In my mind, I remembered the moment. My naked body, coated in a bright blue paint, pressing against the wooden box, trying to coat every last inch of it. Picasso watching on, giving precise instructions, as he’d done previously with other women and other boxes.

“There were definitely blue boxes. I know there were. BRIGHT blue, like that blue over there,” I said, pointing toward the wall painted a brilliant sky blue.

“There were green, and black. Nine green boxes total, 3 black, and then there were the rocks.”

“Yes, I know there were green and black. Nine green boxes, with around 20 green rocks, 3 black boxes and 5 black rocks. But there were also 3 blue boxes and 7 blue rocks.” I couldn’t understand why this art historian was arguing with me; I’d helped create the boxes.

Lately, when I start to wake, instead of remembering part of a dream, I have a novel running through my head as I come into consciousness. Crazy stories, just like I’m reading it from a book.

This morning’s was something out of science fiction. A person, in the future, doing some schleppy IT-related work because he wants to slack off. Only he realizes the work he does fuels what he hates about society and aids in lining the pockets of his enemies. There were spaceships involved – a la Futurama, but more grown up and realistic and grimy.

It just always strikes me as odd when I wake up and there are these well-formed sentences running through my head, and I’m not the center of the dream or even watching it – someone is narrating it. I find it even more odd that I have some sort of science fiction brewing in my unconscious; I don’t even like science fiction. But that can mainly be blamed on Star Trek.

I slide into the Fiero and back down the gravel driveway, narrowly missing the trees.

It’s the first game of the season — UT versus somebody, I never follow these things too closely. Surprisingly I don’t have too hard of a time getting in.

I start looking for my seat. I go all the way to the top of one set of metal bleachers, then I start heading back down a couple of rows over. Here are my seats, toward the front. The family is already waiting for me.

We watch the kickoff. At halftime, we decide to get some food.

It might have been nice if I explained — this football game was taking place in a huge, Wal-Mart-style warehouse. Just on the other side of the field, behind the bleachers, were the grocery aisles.

“I’ve found the cookies!” I shout, as I grab a pack of Oreos. I run back down the aisle and hop into the electric car. “Hit the gas; let’s check out and get back to our seats.”

We speed down the main aisle and everyone else wants to get into this long line. “No, let’s go down here…” They don’t follow, so I take my cookies and go.

I end up behind the scenes, long concrete hallways, heading to loading docks, locker rooms, storage. There’s a random mop and bucket sitting in the hallway.

Eventually, I make it back to my seat. Time to settle in for the second half…

I’ve had crazy dreams lately. I haven’t had a chance to write about them, but I will soon. And at some point, let’s just say next year since I know aiming for anything this year is a joke, there will be a series of paintings based on my wacky, tacky dreams.

So instead of staying in my sleep-depraived state of mind, I’m going to post a photo from Carmel (oh Carmel, you were so long ago…) and pretend that I’m in that state of mind.

He caught my eye as the fan blade passed over the hole. Sitting next to a green shoe box.

I’ll just ignore him. If I do anything about it, I’ll miss my tv show.

At that moment he fell. Hanging on by his little hamster paw, he dangled perilously above the fan blades, grasping onto the edge of the ceiling’s sheet rock.

Plunk! Crap, he had landed on the bed. Now I have to deal with this little brown and white furball.

Before I can move, he runs off the bed and out into the hallway. He scuttles back and forth along the edge of the wall, contemplating his next move. I’ve made it off the bed, but I too am contemplating the next move. What the hell am I going to catch this hamster with?

about Madd Hatter’s Diary

This blog began in 2005 as I picked up from Kansas City and moved to California. It has been a repository of thoughts, both past and present, movie reviews, book reviews, and a peek into my art and my life. So if you've ever wondered what goes on under the Hatter's hat, here's a way to peek under the lid.